


Open Heart Zoo

by afinecollector (orphan_account)



Series: Not Waving but Drowning [38]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Brotherly Love, Comedown, Drug Use, Epilepsy, Hallucinations, JME, M/M, Rehab Facility, Rehabilitation, Seizure, Withdrawal, fraternal love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7939906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/afinecollector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>Following his OD at Baker Street, Sherlock is checked into rehab and the ride his rough. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>"...But I love him, he's my best friend, and being without him just <i>because</i> he's a dick feels like a high price to pay. I'm going to continue to be angry with him, and he's going to have to put up with it because I deserve to be angry..."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Heart Zoo

**Author's Note:**

> The title and lyrics are borrowed from the Martin Grech song of the same name "Open Heart Zoo".  
> (Listen to it, it's trippy as all Hell)

The familiar smell and setting were something Sherlock hoped never to be acquainted with, but he was not naive and he knew why he was here. He knew that he had to be. He probably could have done it alone - probably - but it was alone that got him here, alone that drove him into the familiar, ever-welcoming arms of hypodermics and that unmistakable smell, unreachable high, unfathomable low. He left the hospital withdrawing, nauseous and with the most infuriating feeling of itching across every inch of his skin. John didn't follow him out to the car with Mycroft, but Mary had kissed him goodbye. To Mycroft's credit, he remained with Sherlock in his room while he adjusted; sat through a talk with the director of the facility, waited outside while Sherlock was examined, and ensured that all of Sherlock's epilepsy care needs were correctly handed over. But when he left, and finally Sherlock was in a position to face this stay alone, he sat on the foot of the hospital bed with his hands in his laps and wondered what the hell his mother would think of her _boy_ now. 

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

 

"I _am_ angry," John stood in Mrs Hudson's kitchen, leaning against the countertop with his ankles crossed and his arms tight against his chest, and looked between he and Mary sitting at the small table. He looked like he didn't want to let anybody in, not even his wife. 

"But it won't change the situation," Mary shrugged her shoulders and pushed her blonde hair behind her left ear. "He did what he did and now he's fixing it," She looked to Mrs Hudson for her agreement and was greeted with a nod. "Punishing him by not talking, or by staying away, is only going to drive him back to that state." 

John pursed his lips, an expression Mrs Hudson knew well. "He almost died, and not for the first time in his life. You know he once got himself that totalled he had a stroke. His brain couldn't take the amount of _shit_ he had in his body. His seizures are bad and when he takes that filth on top of it, he risks death, every single time, because one of these days his seizures won't be stopped. I don't want to be around for the day that that happens because I'll be so angry with him that all I'll be thinking is... _I told you so_." 

Mary's face turned sad and she flattened her mouth into a thin line. She understood John's standpoint - he'd been through a lot with Sherlock, and then some; she couldn't blame him for feeling angry and hurt. "He's getting help now so, as angry as you are, you need to support him through that and be there for him when he comes home at the end of it." 

"He's a dick," John pointed his finger at Mary, and then lowered his hand as if he suddenly realised that it looked more aggressive than he was intending. "And he doesn't deserve me forgiving him. But I love him, he's my best friend, and being without him just _because_ he's a dick feels like a high price to pay. I'm going to continue to be angry with him, and he's going to have to put up with it because I deserve to be angry." 

Mrs Hudson smiled softly, "He loves you, John. Remember that. In his funny old way, he loves you." 

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_Know your limits boy  
Once more too high_

"Do you understand the implications of your drug use when your neurological state is as precarious as yours - and you're already taking medications that have an effect on the workings of the pulses within your brain?"

Sherlock looked up at the bearded doctor, looking up at him from behind his desk, with his hands pressed together at the fingers and his elbows resting on the arms of his office chair. He considered saying no, considered flinching purposefully and demanding lorazepam, considered just asking to leave. Instead, he took a deep breath and nodded his head. "But that's the frailty of being an addict, isn't it?" He said, running the short nails of his left fingers up and down his right arm. There were small grazes in the same place from where he'd been doing it most of the night - on both arms. "You do it even though you know that you shouldn't." 

"Quite," The doctor nodded his head as he frowned, narrowing his already narrow eyes further. "Your drug of choice continues to be morphine?" Sherlock inhaled deeply through his nose again and nodded his head. "Any particular reason you opt for a drug intended for pain relief - are there psychological reasons why it is this particular drug?" 

"It's good," Sherlock said, jerking back his head. He watched the doctor planning his next response. 

"Hmm," he hummed, "Not good enough, though, it seems. You're still in some deal of pain and with your toxicology reports, there was enough heroin in your system to kill you. So you didn't even do that right..." 

Sherlock's brows shot up his head. "What?" 

"Are you alright, Sherlock?" The doctor asked, frowning at Sherlock's loud exclamation. 

Sherlock frowned and looked to his left, then his right. He didn't remember walking in here - and since when was that guy in the grey suit sitting in the chair behind him? He looked back up at the doctor and tilted his head to the side. "You just shaved?" he blinked. 

The doctor got to his feet and walked around his desk, "Sherlock," He peered into Sherlock's face, eyebrows raised and voice calm as he spoke. He really didn't look like Sherlock remembered him looking two minutes ago. No beard, a pair of light glasses, younger by many more years. He straightened and looked down to the back of his office, and beckoned over the young man sitting back there. "Take him back to his room, make sure there's a sitter in case he seizes." 

If Sherlock was able to make sense of the healthcare assistant in grey suit trousers and a white shirt helping him to stand, to walk from the room, and to amble down the corridor to his room, he didn't show any indication that he did. He blinked at everything, seeing it and then, apparently, seeing it again in a very different way. This comedown was different, very different, and his body and mind were in no way cooperating. Teamwork, be damned!


End file.
